Modern Art
by Olivine
Summary: ryosaku: Three years after Ryoma leaves for America, Sakuno enrolls in the Seattle Art Institute. They meet again on the way back to Japan, but this time, Sakuno's befriended Oishi. - reREedited
1. Words

This story will be set in the future when both Ryoma and Sakuno are seventeen. Let's pretend Ryoma left for America unannounced. Rewritten - june 07

**chapter one**

The rhythm of the club music pounded in his ears and after a while, his heart became one with the beat of the surround-sound stereos systems. Loud and fast. Strobe lights flashed maniacally while bodies grinded on the backlit dance floor.

Seventeen-year-old Echizen Ryoma sat away from the fray of lights and sound, leaning onto the bar counter with his head bent. A shady looking bartender watched enviously as women tried to catch the young man's eye, walking by him slowly and flashing their tanned legs in their flirty skirts. He didn't look up for any of them.

It was Saturday night, the last few hours of personal freedom he had before he was whisked away on the earliest flight to Seattle. He had an interview the next day and his manager would have a fit if he missed it. But in all honesty, Ryoma didn't give a damn. Despite his _immense_ love for tennis, he was starting to get bored of it. A few months ago, this was unthinkable. No one would have guessed that the young man on the court who had full-heartedly strived to return all of his opponents' counters would be the same guy sitting in a downtown nightclub in Boston.

But a few months ago, Ryoma had opponents to beat. After winning Wimbledon, and the headlines of nearly every sports magazine, the only opposition left to smooth out was his father, Echizen Nanjirou. And he resided in Japan.

That's where Ryoma wanted to be more than anywhere. He looked up, licking his lips slightly, and motioned for the bartender.

"One cup of beer?" The bartender asked gruffly. His gaze wondered, trying to catch some ladies of his own.

Ryoma rolled his eyes. "No." He knew what one cup of beer would lead to and he had no intention of getting drunk in public. "Do you have any carbonated drinks?"

The bartender looked confused and then chuckled hoarsely. "Like soda? Sorry, we don't carry that kind of stuff. How about some wine instead?"

"No."

The bartender's eyes caught some females looking in their direction. "I've got some champagne saved for special occasions, but if you want--"

"No." Ryoma closed his eyes. He wasn't stupid; he knew he was being used.

The bartender drummed his fingers on the counter nervously. "Might I interest you in a free martini? Hey, maybe you could help--?"

"I'm leaving." Ryoma got up too quickly, causing tiny, dizzy spots to appear and dance. Rubbing his eyes, he made a mental note to eat better, even though he preferred Japanese cooking.

He wound his way through the crowds of people, finally leaning against a wall and exhaling deeply to clear his head.

After the interview the next day, he would ask his manager if he could return to Japan… and his manager would have to agree because there were no important matches ahead in his schedule. In fact, except a few sponsor signings, there was really nothing.

Ryoma smirked at his good luck and raised his arms above his head in a stretch. A brown-haired girl walking by turned around and unconsciously gaped at how fine he was. She nearly choked when she saw a thin slice of skin exposed around his waist when his shirt pulled up.

Stopping in his stretch, he looked at her and acting on his high, he asked, "Want to dance?"

_Oh, he's bilingual!_ She nearly fainted.

Ryoma smirked. He had always been irresistible, as he had learned when he hit puberty and started noticing that strange female species. He had never had trouble approaching them; they had always come to him. Now older and towering at 5'10, he could easily avert their attention to him just by raking through his dark hair with his fingers, showing off his perfect green highlights.

This dazed brunette was no exception. She could feel the envious glares of the other girls around her and she felt strangely desirable. And by an exotic beauty like him too. Why was he at a low-class club like this?

"You coming?" He held out his hand. She didn't care, as long as she had his attention.

She took his hand and followed him. 

* * *

Especially in the fast rhythm of the music and presence of an incredibly good-looking guy, the girl felt painfully awkward and timid. She would have much rather just admired him from a distance because she had always been the shy type. Her legs were slow and stiff; it was embarrassing. She felt exposed in his company and was relieved when he didn't seem to mind her lameness.

He could have easily gotten any girl from the club, but frankly, he liked this held-back personality. It was a natural hard-to-get act. So shy and easily flustered… long, brown hair… extremely sweet and innocent. He let her scent wash over him.

Only when she heaved a sigh and decided to be bolder and step closer did he back out of the way. Thinking it was a coincidence, she spun closer, trying to hold his hand. He pulled away again. Immediately, another girl jumped in and started grinding her hips low and suggestively against him. He turned and more girls appeared, all trying to capture his attention. Soon he was surrounded.

'So this is why I don't like dances', Ryoma thought dryly. He was just starting to enjoy himself when these _girls_ ruined it. How annoying.

He excused himself and tried walking away from the circle of female predators. One of them grabbed his arm and followed him, thinking herself so coy and special. When they were away from the crowd, she snaked her arms up to his neck and pulled his head down to hers less than gently. What a winner. 

She leaned up and whispered, "I can give you what you want."

"Really," Ryoma breathed, his lips just inches from hers. "You'll do what I want you to?"

She smiled deeply. "Anything."

Ryoma pulled away and deadpanned, "Then get the hell away from me."

He turned and walked away briskly.

_Mada mada dane_.

* * *

Somewhere in Seattle the next day, a piercing yell was heard from behind a large wooden door, followed by a lower, muffled voice. The exchange was passed back and forth until there was just the lower voice speaking calmly. A minute later, Ryoma emerged from the door, wearing a picture-perfect smirk of triumph.

He had successfully snubbed his manager of a three month vacation. He could honestly give himself a pat on the back.

After a sixteen-hour flight, Ryoma stepped into the Tokyo International Airport, feeling more awake and at home than ever. He was back in Japan.

The only thing wrong with the picture was that he was decked out in an ancient trench coat, a Boston Red Sox cap, and aviator sunglasses, leaving him with second thoughts about hiding his identity so "well". People, especially young girls, were eying him suspiciously.

"_What's with that guy flying first class?"_

"_I know, he's definitely way too poor for it!"_

"_Where'd he even get the money?"_

"I_s he like, a mugger?"_

It was annoying as hell listening to all these accusations. Ryoma walked rapidly through the airport, ignoring the whispers with a strained patience.

Instead, he tried thinking about his flight from Seattle to Tokyo. He had sat in the window seat of a two-person row next to a Japanese girl around 16 or 17. She wore a cap with a brim that hid her eyes in shadows but it didn't hide her long, chestnut-brown wavy hair. Each rolling curl hung around her perfectly. The smell of her sophisticated, subtle shampoo was enticing.

She had doodled in her sketchpad the whole flight while listened to her MP3 player, not bothering to spare him a glance. Slightly annoyed by this, Ryoma thought of talking to her, but first, he didn't want to disturb her in her peace, and second, that was prohibited. Well in any case, he liked watching the way her pencil skimmed across the paper lightly, producing accurate, firm lines. He hid his observing by pretending to sleep with his hat enveloping his eyes. He didn't want her shooting him weird looks.

He liked what he saw.

As fascinating as her pencil was, she was without a doubt much more interesting. It wasn't like he had never seen a girl so cute, because he had. It was more like he had never seen a girl look so pure.

She made a good picture: the sunlight streaming through the window caught her hair and tinted it golden red. Her profile was young, like a schoolgirl's, and her nose gently curved up and then down to meet her lips… her pale, soft-looking lips that curled up in a secretive smile.

Her white hat looked like his tennis cap, but _over her river-like, maple hair, it looks so…_ Ryoma paused. _Familiar._

This girl reminded him of the other brown-haired girl from the night club who had danced with him. She struck him as different. He didn't know anything about this girl but he knew that he was curious about her.

When they were near their destination, he had decided to risk it, and asked, "What are you drawing?"

She had her eyes closed and was drawing blindly when he asked. Her eyes open fluidly and she turned around to locate the voice. He took this chance to observe her face. Her eyes were the color of melted chocolate, but so much lighter and almost iridescent. Not only that, but they seemed alert and attentive, not at all like the normal zombie-like, hungry stare of his average fan girls'. Framed with thick yet delicate, dark eyelashes, he found himself feeling nostalgic at the sight.

Why was he thinking of nothing but her? He had to know. But at the same time, he felt afraid of finding out the answer to this mystery.

Unfortunately, when these mysterious eyes spotted him, they didn't see Ryoma, the hot-shot tennis star. Instead they took in Ryoma, the mugger. Needless to say, she was a bit freaked out.

"Um… I'm just doodling, nothing special."

She had looked away quickly and defiantly stared at her sketchpad the rest of the flight.

When they were asked to leave the plane, she had gathered her belongings in lightspeed. He looked up in time only to see her distant legs swinging hurriedly away from him. She really needed to get a longer skirt. Old guys might try to hit on her.

Right, she thought he was one of those old guys.

'How could I be repulsive?' Ryoma had thought bitterly as he walked away from his lost battle. But he refused to accept defeat. 'If I took off my hat and glasses, she'd be all over me.' He had reached up to take his hat off when he stopped and felt stupid. 

To think that he had actually wanted to risk his identity just to impress one girl. Or rather, to prove that he wasn't a mugger, and then possibly rub it in her face that he was actually a famous, rather-good-looking celebrity.

But he had decided against it. She wasn't worth it. _Deep down, all girls are just annoying._ Already, the image of her face was draining from his mind. 

Ryoma strode through the sliding doors of the exit and walked over to his arranged chauffeur waiting beside a cab.

"Oi," he raised a hand to the driver.

Obviously he hadn't recognized Ryoma because he gave a start and exclaimed in a hushed voice, "Oh, Mr. Echizen!" Immediately, he pulled the door open for Ryoma. Once he got into the cab himself, he asked, "Where to, sir?"

Ryoma smiled. "Just drop me off downtown. I want to walk around."

"Of course."

* * *

ooh la! 

* * *

(A/N): My first attempt at a multi-chapter story. Still not entirely sure of the plot. Reviews would be extremely helpful :)

**Edit**: Hahaha oh do I have a plot _now_… (run for your life!) Sorry I had to rewrite everything. I had to take out the part about Gus, the lame manager, and the fan girl attack. I felt it was seriously irrelevant. Sorry if you actually liked those parts (haha)

**Edit2**: 3/22/08 - I just reread this, and I definitely want to finish this, though it'll prob be only 6-7 chapters long (hopefully). Truthfully, I spent so much time editing the first four chapters that I don't think any chapters following will be as detailed. 


	2. Are

**chapter two**

Stepping out of the cab, Ryoma was completely unrecognizable. He had changed into jeans and a dark long-sleeved shirt, stuffing the trench coat and hat into a bag, which he swung over his shoulder. He wore the same white, Fila cap from so many years ago and underneath, he had slipped on a pair of sunglasses.

After thanking his driver, he looked around the cityscape and his lips tugged into a slow smile.

Not much had changed. It was the same busy street with that friendly burger place where he had spent many of his afternoons with his crazy family of sempai-tachi--

Ryoma's heart skipped a beat. How could he have forgotten? He had missed his teammates so much when he had left for America and now… Now he was so preoccupied with defeating his dad and that girl on the plane that he had forgotten his old friends who had made his life in middle school the best (and liveliest) experience of his life.

What had happened to him?

He turned around and followed the familiar path to Seigaku.

88888888888

Speeding past a tall, dark-haired figure with a white cap, Ryuzaki Sakuno leaned back in a cab with her luggage, heading to her hotel. She had her hands clasped around her necklace. The smooth, heart-shaped stone always helped to calm her down. And she desperately needed to at that moment.

She had just had a near-fatal encounter with a sketchy old man on the plane. He was probably a thief too. How else could someone as ragged and poor-looking fly first class? She was lucky to have gotten away right after the plane had landed.

The truly frightening part was that she was strangely drawn to the guy and she had to mentally kick herself just for thinking that. But it was true. It must have been his … what? Appearance? Manliness? She laughed at that, but the sound came out hollow.

She was scared and didn't know why she kept thinking about him.

It must have been his voice, she thought to herself. His silky voice. But the odd thing was that it seemed too young for an old man. Did he do voice training to get it to sound so perfect? She shuddered. She was insane or just hormonally unbalanced to be attracted to some random, potentially dangerous old man.

Her cellphone rang, startling her out of her reverie.

"M-moshi moshi?" Could it be the old guy? She was getting illogical. How could he have her number? Unless he was a stalker…

"Hey, Ryuzaki-chan. Is something wrong?"

She sighed out in relief. This wasn't the suave voice of the mugger. But why was she just a little bit disappointed? "Ah, Oishi-sempai. No, nothing's wrong."

"So I take it you got back ok?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Sakuno smiled.

"And the flight?" Oishi-sempai was always so caring. She felt relaxed and safe when she was with him. He was so much easier to talk to than other boys.

"The attendant helped me when I got on. It wasn't too scary." She decided not to mention the old guy.

"Ok, that's good."

"Where are you?"

"I'm on my way to your hotel right now. How about we go out for dinner tonight?"

"T-tonight? Ano…" Did she have any plans? None that she knew of. "Yeah, ok. Where?"

"I'll surprise you."

She laughed. "Ok, I'll meet you in the hotel lobby tonight then."

"Alright." He paused. "Ah, Ryuzaki-chan?"

"Hai?"

"Have you thought about my… question?"

"Ah…" Yes, she had. She had thought about it quite a lot. And she still did not have the answer yet. "Ano… I still can't give you the answer. I'm sorry."

"It's ok! I didn't mean to sound impatient, sorry. I'll talk to you later, ok, Ryuzaki-chan?"

"Ok, Oishi-sempai. See you."

"Bye."

Sakuno suddenly frowned. Oishi-sempai sounded so disappointed, but of course he would never mention it. Of all the old Seigaku tennis regulars, Oishi-sempai was the one who connected with Sakuno the most. He was always so caring and … well, motherly. She knew he was frequently teased about it. But Sakuno didn't think being nice was a bad thing. And it certainly didn't make him gay or anything…

"Hey."

Sakuno looked up. The cab driver pursed his lips. "We've arrived at the hotel."

"Oh, thank you very much!" Sakuno blushed at her lack of awareness. She paid the driver, quickly grabbed her bags, and stumbled out. Someone offered to help her and she vaguely remembered thanking them. After she had checked out a room and brought all of her luggage to it, she laid face-down on her bed, recommencing her chain of memories.

She thought back to when she first started talking to Oishi-sempai a lot. It was after that _incident_.

Oishi-sempai had been so disheartened and she had felt so bad for him. After watching him lag behind in tennis practice for a week, she decided to go up to him and wished him luck, albeit shyly. He had smiled back and said, "Thank you… Ryuzaki-san, right?"

After that, whenever they passed each other, he would say "good morning, Ryuzaki-san" or simply smile and wave. Sometimes they would have a small conversation before he was needed at the tennis club or student council. Over time, these small conversations turned into daily chats and a legitimate friendship, which Sakuno considered an honor and valued dearly.

That was a few months before she had left for Seattle.

She smiled at the old memories. Back then, the tennis club meant everything to her. She would plan her days around their tournaments. And back then, she had acted like a bumbling idiot.

And all for who? She could only guess how she looked to that… _Ryoma-kun_. Following him around like that and feeding him and cheering for him. Like a slave! She had thought she was different to Echizen Ryoma because she wasn't a loud, obnoxious fan girl. But in the end, that's all she was. A fan girl. A shy, quiet, persistent fan girl. That is, until the day he rejected her.

"_Will you stop following me?"_

Those words had hurt. She had cried herself to sleep so many nights. It was _pathetic_ how he could draw so many tears from her… she had no idea he had meant so much to her! Eventually, she had gotten over it, slowly but surely. She had even made Ryoma a small cake as a kind of peace treaty.

That fateful day was a painful thorn stuck in her past.

She had been walking to his house, humming to herself, and imagining what his expression would be when he saw her cake. It had taken her four hours to make and every minute was dedicated and focused. For once, she was proud of how it turned out.

Too impatient to wait any longer, she had sprinted the last fifty meters to his house and pulled at his gate. But his gate wouldn't open. It was bolted shut and her eyes scanned the area for hint, finally stopping on the sign on the brick wall.

She had dropped the cake in the moment of shock, and chunks of vanilla had splattered onto her legs.

The sign had read, "Moved to America."

Picking her way home, Sakuno had greeted her grandmother with glazed eyes. She had blindly felt her way up to her room where she had just sat down and stared at her wall. She couldn't believe it… how could he have left without any warning? All of her emotions were caught in her throat, but she refused to cry. Instead, she took out a piece of paper and silently wrote down everything she was feeling. Then she drew a shaky border around her words and then before she knew it, she was sobbing and adding so much detail and shading that by the time she looked up, it was midnight. And sitting on her desk was a complete masterpiece.

How she had made that drawing, she had no idea. But letting out all of her emotions instead of bottling it all inside felt good.

A few weeks later, her grandmother's friend, an art professor, had paid a visit. He had noticed Sakuno's drawing hanging on the wall and told her that she had real potential. She just needed to refine a few skills. Sakuno was elated when he offered to visit again a few years later.

By then, she was fifteen and had had many intense lessons from some of the best teachers around and had many new examples to show him.

To say that he had been impressed would be an understatement. He was completely blown away by her improvement and did everything he could to help her apply for an elite two year course in the Seattle Art Institute, a prestigious art school in America.

From there on, everything had just… fallen into place.

Sakuno smiled and pulled her cap lower, a trick she learned from a certain tennis player. She had to admit, it had looked cute when he did it. Who knew the end of Echizen Ryoma had also been the start of her new life immersed in art? It was her own Renaissance.

Feeling suddenly happy, she stood up and stretched her arms a bit. She glanced at the clock; she still had a few hours time before she had to meet Oishi-sempai. Grabbing some money and her room key, Sakuno decided to get some tea from the café down the street.

'Where will Oishi-sempai take me? Maybe I should dress up? He didn't say anything about that…' Sakuno thought to herself as she walked past the late afternoon shoppers.

Knowing him, it'll probably just be a small restaurant. Sakuno stifled a giggle and realized that she knew so much about Oishi. Her acceptance into that art course was also when she had started spending more time with Oishi-sempai too. The reason she connected so well with him was that they had both experienced losses, so she could relate. "Losing" Ryoma gave her experience in helping Oishi-sempai when he lost his doubles partner, Kikumaru Eiji. That _incident_ two years ago.

Without warning, the acrobatics player had stopped going to school and tennis practice. Nobody knew where he was. Oishi-sempai was wreck; he nearly starved himself looking for him.

One day, a small pile of wrapped presents miraculously appeared on the tennis courts. There were eight of them: for Momo-ko, Kaidoh-pssh-chan, Taka, Fujiko-chan, Ochibi, Inui, Tezuka-buchou, Ryuzaki-sensei… everyone except Oishi.

Instead, there was a letter slipped beneath the pile that read, "Oiishi sorry I've missed practice and classes (I'm not really sorry for that) but I have somewhere I have to be right now. It's… um… it's… ahh! I can't explain it here-- But don't worry! I'll tell you about it when I get back nya! Stay delicious Oishi! (1) Nyahahahaa!!"

Oishi-sempai had smiled when he read it. He had held on to it and waited. And waited.

But it was all false hope. Eiji never returned.

8888888888

(A/N): **EDITTED (again)** **10/16/07**


	3. Flowing

**chapter three**

_Instead, there was a letter slipped below the pile that read, "Oiishi-- sorry I've missed practice and classes (I'm not really sorry for that) but I have somewhere I have to be right now. It's… um… it's… ahh! I can't explain it here-- But don't worry! I'll tell you about it when I get back nya! Stay delicious Oishi! Nyahahahaa!!"_

_But it was all false hope. Eiji never returned._

The tennis team had suffered, having lost half their national-level Golden Pair. Soon after, Sakuno had flown to America, and only knew what Oishi told her in the form of letters. Later, the letters had just left out the subject of tennis altogether and they found new common interests to talk about.

Sakuno emptied her tea cup and looked out the café window absentmindedly. She missed the Seattle Art Institute already. Not to say that she wasn't glad to be back in Tokyo, but being back made her relive so many dramatic memories. Everything in Seattle had been simple, and she had been, not popular, but _liked_. Her talent had gained her recognition and as humble and unpretentious as Sakuno was, she knew that her looks had something to do with it all too.

Best of all, she had had friends who supported her through all the good and bad times.

Compared to the SAI, Seigaku was miserable.

The steel chair scraped back as Sakuno stood up, flattening her wavy hair. A few people turned to look at her and Sakuno, not liking unwanted attention, pulled her cap down. The bell tinkled as she left the café and started walking back up the street.

She had just enough time to get to the hotel and get ready before she met Oishi-sempai. She wondered what he would look like now. After all, it had been two years since they had last met.

Oh, what if he had grown his hair out? Or gotten a mullet? And dyed it? And--

Covering her mouth, Sakuno sped up, not wanting to wait any longer.

A large shadow stopped in front of her, blocking her way.

"Sorry," Sakuno smiled and walked to the left, but they turned left. She tried the right, but so did they. Giggling, she apologized again. Thinking of Oishi-sempai somehow put her in a good mood.

When the shadow didn't move, her mood dampened. She tried the left again, but they blocked her. Slightly frustrated and suspicious, she swiftly turned into the shadowy alleyway to her right.

The air around her seemed to tense up and she didn't feel safe at all. How stupid of her! Of course the open street would be safer than a dark, closed-off alley. She was about to turn around when she remembered the large, shadowy figure. He was sure to be there still, maybe even following her.

A massive hand on her shoulder was all the confirmation she needed.

"Where do you think you're going?"

888888

Walking past the tennis courts of Seigaku junior high had been exhilarating. He could hear all of his teammate's voices just drifting across.

"_Aozu, the new and improved version. Guaranteed to increase stamina and speed by over two hundred percent in just fifteen cups. Try it."_

"_Yo, you should try it, mamushi. You know you need it."_

"_Fsssh. What did you say, porcupine head?"_

"_Nyahhh! Inuii that drink is BLUE!"_

"_Are you sure it's safe?"_

"_AHHH!!! IT'S BURNINGG!!!"_

"…_I don't think it's that bad."_

"_Everyone, forty laps around the court, now!"_

Ryoma would never admit it, but he had been close to tears. Either from sadness or laughter, he didn't know, but reliving those precious moments of the amazing Seigaku tennis team made his heart warm up so much, Ryoma wondered if he would every scowl again.

Well of course he would. That was like, his job.

The sudden fluttering of wings made Ryoma look up. He took off his sunglasses to see three crows first circling each other, and then landing above the entrance of an eerie alleyway.

_Caw caw._

Ryoma smirked. The sound of crows usually represented something foolish in stories because it sounded like _ba ka._

"_Ba_ka! Why would you only give five thousand?"

Ryoma turned around, raising an eyebrow.

"Baka yourself!!"

His second eyebrow went up too.

"You're both idiots! Now shut up."

Quite a scene was playing out in the alleyway: a girl was backed up against the wall and surrounded by three repulsive-looking guys. The bald one was fingering the buttons on her shirt while the fat one held onto her wrists. The skinny one was slowly inching his hand up her leg and he whispered into her ear:

"Then how about ten thousand(1)? That ought to be worth it, ne? Ten thousand for an hour."

Ryoma could have laughed. _Only ten thousand? They must suck at life._ Then he realized what kind of situation this was, causing his ears to turn rosy.

This girl was about to… get sexually attacked. Ryoma gulped.

He would be lying if he said he had never thought about sex, but he had never _seen_ it; tennis was like a barrier from the real world. Disgusting himself, he found himself curious and rooted to the spot. He leaned in to hear what they were saying.

The girl turned away, replying coldly, "Why don't you use that money to buy some breath mints?"

Her face was now turned toward Ryoma. Recognition hit him hard as he stared into the face of the girl from the plane.

He felt something in his chest tug and a small smirk forming. Seeing her was … sort of pleasant, he mused. But what had she gotten herself into? He watched to see what would happen next, as if watching a movie.

"What did you say?" Skinny asked menacingly.

Shit. While this girl was edging closer and closer to trouble, Ryoma had been staring like a zombie and not doing anything. He had to help her.

The girl replied icily, "Are you too fucked up to understand?"

"Smart aleck." Bald One grinned. "How about we just skip the hotel and do it right here, right now?"

"That's what you get for mouthing off." Skinny smirked. He roughly pushed the girl down, despite her struggling.

Fat-Guy grinned lopsidedly while brutally pulled at her skirt, ripping the material.

She screamed.

The three rapists didn't notice Ryoma behind them until Skinny suddenly fell over. A neon green tennis ball rolled aimlessly on the ground. They looked up.

Ryoma stood there in the front of the alleyway, _backlit_, carrying a tennis racket over one shoulder.

"Ne, ne, you three, do you really have to attack a girl just to get some action?" He bent down and picked up another tennis ball. "That's just sad."

"Hey kid, get out of here before we--" Bald One never got to finish. The tennis ball dug into his forehead and before he could register the pain, he had already fallen over.

The girl's eyes widened. How could he have such precision?

"Mada mada dane." Ryoma smirked.

Fat-Guy, realizing this kid wasn't to be messed with, dropped the girl's legs and turned to run down the alley way. Too late--three tennis balls and a racket hit him and he fell forward on top of Skinny and Bald One, all three of them groaning.

Ignoring the girl, Ryoma silently walked to the three guys sprawled on the cold ground. They watched him come closer and closer in horror until they couldn't take it, and scrambled up, running and perspiring out of the alleyway.

Ryoma openly smirked and collected his "weapons". It was always fun to be better than others. He turned around to put his racket back into his bag, only to see the girl inching her way back up the wall, shivering slightly. He frowned.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded and opened her mouth, as if to say something. Instead, she swallowed hard but couldn't utter a sound.

Shocked.

Her long hair was damp with sweat and her legs felt boneless. She needed support desperately.

Ryoma held out his hand, which she took thankfully, though slightly reluctant. The moment she did, everything seemed to pause for a second and a still silence settled around them.

It was broken by Ryoma's comment. "Pull up your shirt."

The girl's eyes widened. "W-What?" Apparently her voice had come back.

Ryoma smirked. "I said, pull up your shirt."

She blushed but tried to keep her voice firm. "And w-what were you doing, looking down my shirt in the first place?"

"Trust me, I didn't want to, there's nothing to see--" (The girl opened her mouth in disbelief, her cheeks burning.) "--But it's kind of hard to help you without looking at you." She looked like she wanted to interrupt but Ryoma continued, "Also, because you're so short, I have no choice but to look down."

The girl closed her mouth and looked down. Indeed, her shirt was unbuttoned almost to her stomach. Her skirt was also torn and blew lightly in the breeze. She quickly grabbed the fabric of her shirt and pulled it up to her neck, blushing. She felt so exposed, and to a stranger, no less.

She let go of Ryoma's hand and turned away. "Thank you very much for your help. Really." She stood up and smiled at him. "But I've got a meeting to go to."

He grimaced; that was rude. He had to have the last word. "Looking like that?"

She stopped and turned back to Ryoma. "Well, I don't have any extra clothing on me to change into and it looks like you don't either. But I can deal with it." She smiled wanly. The walk of shame back to the hotel would be depressing.

Ryoma loved proving people wrong. He sucked in his obvious smirk (with some difficulty) and casually said, "I have a trench coat in my bag. You can wear it until you get something to change into." He didn't move; she would have to come to him.

She tilted her head, regarding him cautiously. "Do you really?"

"_Yeah_." Ryoma insisted. How didn't she just take his damn offer? He was being charitable!

After a few centuries, the girl seemed to take his word for it and beamed. "Thank you very much, that would help me immensely." Relief poured from her words.

Ryoma couldn't help but point out her mistake as he handed her the wrinkled bundle of cloth. "I thought you said you could deal with it."

"I can, but--"

She suddenly froze, holding out the unfolded coat, and stared at it in horror. "Hey, I've…seen this coat before…" Her eyes skimmed over the material and confirmed that yes; this was the coat of the mugger.

She glanced at Ryoma.

As she searched him for resemblances to the old man on the plane, she thought less and less of it. Instead, she found herself thinking more about how _stunning_ he looked… and she had never been a fan of judging one by their appearance.

He was a good four inches taller than she was and his hair-- his body-- his eyes-- everything was worthy of a male model. His unruly, dark hair fell into his eyes casually, as if he had no idea how well it brought out his light eyes and how dangerously enticing it made him seem. He had a lean body build too; he had to have been an athlete at some point, though he looked more like he would be in some band. Oh, but his eyes… oh god, his eyes… they were amber and deep, with cleverness naturally etched in them. What kept her gaze was the way his eyes tilted up slightly at the end, like a cat's.

Black hair, cat-like eyes, and that perfect precision… with a tennis ball--

_Mada mada dane._

Her heart skipped a beat. There was no way… this man could be…

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(A/N): **Editted on 10/16/07**, hey guys.. I'm sorry to disappoint anyone who was hoping for a new chapter. No, this is just me, fixing the format once again. I decided to stick with shorter chapters. It just makes it immensely easier on me -- I'm so sorry, once again! I will definitely try to get a new chapter up soon! Thanks!

(1) ten thousand yen is about ninety-two u.s. dollars, haha definitely not enough to get it on with those guys.


	4. Out

**chapter four**

Black hair, cat-like eyes, and that perfect precision… with a tennis ball--

Mada mada dane.

Her heart skipped a beat. There was no way… this man could be…

Echizen Ryoma? Her schoolgirl crush who had rejected and left her standing outside his house with her homemade-cake splattered on her legs five years ago… that guy was back? She gazed into his face with wide eyes as it all dawned upon her.

"Ryo--"

She caught herself. What was she doing? She couldn't assume that this _stranger _was "Ryoma-kun".

So what if he resembled Echizen Ryoma uncannily? Despite everything about him that emitted that Echizen essence, what were the actual odds of him being here, standing in front of her, right at this moment? She couldn't jump to conclusions. Not yet. Instead, she asked slowly, "H-Have we… met before?"

"What's your name?"

Well, that was rude, and downright blunt. But if he was who she thought he was, he knew where he was getting at. She decided to play along. "Ryuzaki Sakuno. And yours?"

Ryoma was about to slip out a clever response when he stopped.

Ryuzaki Sakuno? Ryuzaki… What? He racked his head for a reminder. Ryuzaki was the name of the old tennis coach at Seigaku. How could this random girl have the same name as her? Ryuzaki wasn't even a common name. Weirdo…

A small, slightly confused voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Anou…"

With this one word came another picture: a small girl with abnormally long, auburn braids standing in the background, pulling at her skirt like mad. The coach's granddaughter. What was her name? It was on the tip of his tongue.

Ryoma glanced at the Ryuzaki in front of him. She tilted her head, as if asking "yes?" Her long hair twirled in the wind and the ends curled around her lower back.

Ryoma's bag slipped a little.

Her hair was the same length as the braids.

That was no coincidence. Ryoma felt his stomach drop slightly. That would mean… this was the granddaughter? The one who always tagged along with the old tennis team. The one who stumbled on everything and couldn't even finish a sentence without stuttering. The one with no hand-eye coordination at all. The one his old teammates would pair him with in their sick "love" games.

Wobbly hips, horrible form, hair too long. Homemade lunches, shy, timid voice… His old Seigaku classmate from freshmen year and personal cheerleader.

Was her name Ryuzaki Sakuno? He smiled on the inside. Yes it was. Ryoma turned back to the Ryuzaki girl in front of him and said, "I can't tell you who I am." Not now that I've figured out who you really are.

"Why not?" She asked, the impact of the earlier shock dissipating. She decided that if he actually was a dangerous mugger, he would have done something already. Lightly, she wrapped the trench coat around her, her security level inching up.

"My identity is confidential." Ryoma said in finality with the trace of a smirk forming.

Sakuno was aware that the tone of the conversation had lightened tremendously. "Okay. Then answer this: have we met before?"

Ryoma debated whether to answer or not. Well, what was the harm of her knowing now? "We met on the plane flying from Seattle to Tokyo," Ryoma answered obediently.

She had already figured that out. She was over the fact that the sketchy old mugger from the plane and the grotesquely handsome man who had saved her life were the same person.

The more pressing matter was…

"But, I-I mean, have we met before that…?"

The chances of this man actually being Echizen Ryoma were incredibly slim. Yet he acted just like him, looked just like him (albeit with some more mature features), and she…she remembered how easily he had knocked down those three molesters with just a tennis ball. Of course he was amazing at tennis. These couldn't be mere coincidences--it had to be him. This time, the words slipped out before she could stop them:

"R-Ryoma-kun?"

He raised an eyebrow. Ryoma-kun? When was the last time someone had called him that? Suddenly, he heard a smaller, younger voice in his head. _Ah, Ryoma-kun, wait for me!_ Right, she used to call him that.

He bent down to meet her face-to-face. "Ryuzaki."

Her eyes widened a little. "You remember me?"

"Barely."

She wanted to glare at him for being so rude but she couldn't… because he was Ryoma-kun. Just being around him made her feel inferior and shy. Like something from the past, Sakuno felt a strange, uncontrollable heat rising up her neck to her ears and face. It felt nostalgically familiar. After all, old habits were hard to break.

And this time, he wasn't just Ryoma-kun, her old classmate. This time, he was _Echizen Ryoma_-kun, the young tennis phenomenon who that was taking the world by storm… No. He already had taken the world. Now he was the reigning world champion.

"Anou," she looked down. What else could she really say? It wasn't like they had anything in common, like with Oishi-sempai and her. It was amazing that after two years, he still got her tongue-tied. How stupid. She had spoken confidently when she had not known he was Ryoma-kun. Why had that knowledge changed her so much?

And here she was, degraded her back into that young, stumbling girl that Sakuno had long since pushed into her childhood.

But all the same, she was flattered that he at least remembered who she was…

Sakuno smiled dreamily. Wait--

She couldn't believe what she was thinking. Echizen Ryoma, the cold-hearted boy who had rejected her.

"_Will you stop following me?"_

The boy she had resolved to forget. She had attended a prestigious art course in Seattle, Washington, and she had graduated with a standing ovation from her class. Ryuzaki Sakuno was not someone to look down upon! Not even by Ryoma-kun!

Before she knew what was happening, Ryoma was holding her hair in two pigtails and observing her.

"Hn? No wonder I didn't recognize you at first." His eyes gazed intently at her hair and against her will, Sakuno's face lit up in a bright pink. He had suddenly looked irresistibly cute.

"Braid your hair," he murmured.

"Eh?" How could he just bulldoze her over like that? She wasn't weak, damn it! Yet, she found herself acting to obey his command. But, braid her hair…? Sakuno thought. Oh right.

The old braids she had in junior high.

She started to twist the strands over, her fingers still fluent from the many practices she had had before. She tied the end with a spare hair band and did the same for the other.

With the shadow of a smile, Ryoma held one of her braids in his hands gingerly and if memory served him correctly, he had always said… "Heh, your hair's still too long." That.

"R-Ryoma-kun!" She looked to the side, sucking on her cheek. "You haven't changed at all."

Ryoma let go of her hair and turned around to walk out of the alleyway where the sun was just starting to set. "But you're the one who needs to change, aren't you?"

She followed him. "W-What do you mean?"

"Under the trench coat, you're wearing basically _nothing_." He couldn't hold back his smirk this time. He had said 'nothing' in English, reminding her of when her English had truly sucked. It was so easy to make fun of her.

She glared at his smirk and said, "My English is better."

Her tough act just fed his ego. "Don't you have a meeting to get to?" he asked in English.

Having lived two years in America, she genuinely wasn't joking when she had said her English had gotten better. "Oh, I forgot all about that!" She responded naturally. But as modest as she was, Sakuno smiled deviously on the inside, knowing that she had just beaten Ryoma-kun at his own game. She walked a little ahead, almost humming.

If Ryoma was shocked, he didn't show it. But he was impressed; she had improved. From what little he remembered, she had thoroughly sucked at English. How had she gotten so much better?

The two of them walked back towards Sakuno's hotel, with her leading. The setting sun cast a tangerine orange shadow over them as silence reigned over them.

Sakuno turned around all of a sudden and asked, "Ryoma-kun, what are you doing in Japan anyway?"

"I'm just visiting someone."

"Who?" Sakuno blushed. Did he mean her? No wait, what was she thinking? Sakuno, you dummy.

Ryoma shrugged. "An opponent." _Oyagi_. He turned back to her. "How's high school in Tokyo?"

"Ah…" Sakuno looked at him. "I-I didn't go to high school here. I moved after junior high."

There was a silence as the latter processed this information.

Sakuno continued. "I-I lived in Seattle for two years." As proud as she was of her exchange, she couldn't help but feel a bit bashful about the subject. "I just returned today."

Ryoma raised his eyebrows. This was definitely news to him.

He turned back to the setting sun. "What were you doing there?"

"Well, I-I was enrolled in a two-year art course in the Seattle Art Institute."

He didn't say anything for a minute. Sakuno studied his profile through her peripheral vision. Finally he said, "I didn't know Ryuzaki liked art."

"Anou, I started when--" Sakuno paused, hands balled into fists. _…when you left me heartbroken, alone, and confused_. All the forgotten rage from that day came flooding back to her. She hadn't forgiven him entirely. And he had yet to apologize.

Ryoma didn't seem to notice the sudden mood change in Sakuno. He pressed on as if she wasn't shaking. "When…?"

Sakuno sighed deeply and spoke in a low voice, "When you left for America _unannounced_." She emphasized the last word.

Then she waited for him to say something, but he didn't. She waited for him to explain his sudden disappearance five years ago. She waited--but it seemed Ryoma-kun was just either emotionless, stubborn, or dense. Or all of the above.

So she let the subject drop for now. If he was going to act like that, she'd wait. She wanted his explanation when he was truly sorry. Pulling the trench coat tighter, she ran up to the entrance of the hotel and pulled the door open for him. For now, she'd focus on seeing Oishi-sempai after two years apart.

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**(A/N)**: Up next: Ryoma meets Oishi finally! Also, Sakuno's friend from the SAI comes to visit.

Edit: Oh my god, I just reread this, and goshh I've made my characters so so OOC and there are many many clichés and… oh my goshh, it's pretty embarrassing. But I will stop changing things around because it's probably getting annoying --; Don't worry, with my "2-years-of-fanfic-experience", I will do everything in my power to make this WAY better!


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